A Rainy Day in London
by Lila Pitch
Summary: It's raining in London and Sherlock is bored. He and John leave the flat and run into Molly at a café, who tells them her fiancé, Tom, dumped her last week but has since gone missing. Sherlock decides to take the case but finds it difficult with Molly's sentiment and sadness getting in the way. This is not Sherolly, and it's only rated T because of language
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It was raining in London. The sky was gray, the wet sidewalk was gray…the day just had an overall feel of "grayness" to it.

John Watson sat in his chair, reading the paper. Or, trying to read the paper. It was a bit hard, what with the noise his flat-mate was making. Sherlock was bored. Again. And the only reason that he wasn't shooting walls was because John had, by some miracle, managed to pinch his gun from under the skull while Sherlock was showering.

Sherlock was torturing his violin again, louder than he ever had before. He wore a most determined expression on his face the whole time, as if it was taking a good deal of concentration to make the violin create the sounds that it currently was.

"SHERLOCK!" John finally bellowed, throwing down his paper and standing up. "Jesus Christ Sherlock, give it a rest!"

"I'm bored, John!", Sherlock said, throwing his bow down violently on the desk.

"Yeah, we've established that, thanks. Don't you have some other way to distract yourself? One that doesn't involve making me miserable, maybe?"

"Nope," he said, with emphasis on the 'p'. "There's no cases right now, Gavin hasn't texted in over a week"-

"It's Greg."

"Whatever, and I can't even bug Mycroft...he's out of the country on a top-secret mission that he wouldn't tell me about but I know he's going to Russia. It was so obvious from the looks of his right palm…"

John didn't even ask. "Great, well, I'm trying to read the paper and I can barely hear myself think"-

"Not much there to hear, really…."

John glared at his friend. "Okay," he said, "I'm going out."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet. I'll figure it out when I get there."

"Can I come?"

John looked at his roommate suspiciously. Sherlock didn't usually offer to venture beyond the walls of 221B Baker street unless there was a case that rated higher than a seven.

"Come on John, I'm going insane, drowning in boredom. Maybe if we get lucky someone will be viciously murdered when we walk by and I'll finally have something to do."

"One can only hope…fine, come on then."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock and John walked down the rainy street. Both had turned up their coat collars against the wind and rain, but somehow Sherlock managed to look very suave and debonair and John managed only to look very cold and uncomfortable.

"John," Sherlock said loudly over the rain. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know…here, let's go in here."

Sherlock followed John into a small café packed with other people trying to escape the rain, which was coming down harder with every passing minute. The two friends pushed their way to a small empty table in the back and sat down.

"I'm going to get a coffee, want anything?" John asked Sherlock, peeling off his wet jacket and standing up.

"Black, two sugars…" Sherlocks said absently. He was busy scanning the crowd for anything interesting: thieves, criminals, psychopaths…really, anything more interesting than an ordinary morning in an ordinary coffee shop surrounded by ordinary people.

He'd finished his scanning by the time John got back with his coffee.

"No one here is a serial killer John!" he complained to his friend.

"Ah, what a shame." John lifted his coffee cup for a drink, but stopped mid-sip, looking at the door. He lowered his mug. "Is that Molly?" he asked Sherlock.

Sherlock turned around to look. Sure enough, it was Molly, closing a cheerful red umbrella as she entered the café. Sherlock studied her as she got in line for a drink "Something's wrong…"

"Wrong?" John asked, his eyebrows scrunching in concern.

"Yes…her engagement ring. It's not there. And her hands are shaking as she's taking her change."

"I'll tell her to join us," John got up and walked over to his friend.

Sherlock watched John approach Molly, watched Molly turn and greet him.

"She said hello cheerfully enough but she's not…where's Tom?" Sherlock muttered to himself, his voice souring on the name, Tom. He didn't care for Tom. Molly, however annoying she got, was still his friend, and she deserved someone much more competent and smarter than Tom had proven to be.

John walked back to the table, followed by Molly. He thought he heard a mumble that sounded suspiciously like "meat dagger" escape from Sherlock's mouth, but decided to ignore it.

"Hello Sherlock," Molly said cheerfully. But Sherlock noticed that, while her mouth curved into a smile, her eyes remained dull and melancholy.

"Hello Molly, when did Tom dump you?"

"Sherlock!" John said fiercely, glaring at the detective.

"No, John, it's okay." Molly's hands were wrapped around her steaming mug of tea. "Last week," she told Sherlock. "Last Friday."

"Molly I'm so sorry…" John said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Sherlock said nothing, but continued to stare at his friend intently…There was more to the story.

"But that's not entirely why you're upset, is it." It wasn't a question.

Molly shook her head slowly, staring down into her drink. "I was actually on my way to see you guys, I'd hoped you'd be able to help me."

"Help you with what?" John asked.

"Tom's missing, John." Sherlock told his friend.

"Missing?" John turned to Molly for confirmation.

She nodded. "Missing."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys sorry I haven't updated 'till now. I needed some time to mentally process The Six Thatchers, and, you know, stop lying on the floor while crying and yelling at John. On a lighter note, thank you to the people who favorited, followed, or liked my story, it means a lot to me!**

The trio left the café and headed back out into the pounding rain. Molly kindly offered the other two the use of her umbrella, and John accepted gratefully, but Sherlock walked alongside the two silently, apparently oblivious to the rain coming down on him.

He was deep in his mind palace, his thoughts swirling round and round in his head, all eventually reaching the same conclusion: Tom was an idiot. He could have wandered off somewhere without telling anyone, gotten out of the city for a few days…surely Molly was being dramatic. Tom was an idiot, and why would anyone kidnap an idiot, especially an idiot with no wealthy relatives, no known enemies, and no track record? Tom can't be missing surely…just misplaced.

When they got back to 221B John and Sherlock took their positions in their chairs, and Molly sat in the client chair, facing them like so many others had done, to share her story of confusion, of sadness, of woe. Clasping her hands anxiously, she began to speak.

"Last Friday Tom called when I was done with work. He told me that he wanted to end our engagement, that it wasn't making him happy or something…" she trailed off, picking at a loose thread in her cardigan and refusing to meet the eyes of John or Sherlock.

"And," Sherlock prompted, ignoring the look of outrage and annoyance that John was giving him.

Molly took a breath. "And I said okay…I guess I kind of thought this might happen but, I don't know, I thought maybe he'd just say he needed a break or something…. the next day I went 'round to his flat to drop off some of his things- "

"Hang on," said John. "I thought you two shared a place."

"Tom was looking for a buyer of his flat but hadn't found one yet, probably because it's appallingly dreadful, and he was living in his flat until he could sell it because Molly was painting her bedroom anyway," Sherlock said as Molly opened her mouth to answer John.

John looked at Molly, eyebrows raised. She nodded. "He's right but I don't know how he – "

"Never mind. Don't encourage him, just keep talking."

"Encourage?" Sherlock cut in, confused. Molly ignored him.

"Okay…so I brought his things over and he wasn't there – "

"Yes Molly, you're right, he must have been kidnapped or something, there's no possibility whatsoever that he just popped out to the store – "

"Sherlock!" John cut in. "Stop being a dick and let her finish!"

Sherlock stared at John, bewildered as to the source of his anger, and Molly continued.

"I came in the morning." She informed Sherlock. "When I know he'll probably be having breakfast. But he wasn't. I came back the next day and the day after and he wasn't there either, and he didn't answer his mobile, so I thought I'd stop into his work. Well, I went in and his boss said Tom hadn't been in since Friday, the day he…" she cleared her throat. "The day he ended things. He also said Tom never mentioned that he wasn't coming in"

"What day of the week did you go to his work?" Sherlock asked.

"Umm…. Wednesday, I think. Yes, Wednesday.

"So, he ends your relationship, then isn't home when he should be, and then doesn't come into work…." Sherlock leaned back in his chair, his hands together under his chin, deep in thought.

"Couldn't he have gone on vacation or something?" John asked.

"I guess so, but that doesn't really sound like Tom. He would have at least let his bosses know."

"So, Molly you're saying," Sherlock said, eyes closed. "That something happened to Tom."

"Yes. Maybe."

"Why do you care? He dumped you."

"But he's…still a friend, I think. And he might be in trouble. I don't want anything to happen to him."

Sherlock stared off into space for a minute or so. Than he spoke.

"I'll take the case."


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh Damn, I don't have a key," Molly said. The three were outside the door of Tom's flat. Molly had knocked, just in case Tom was inside but no one had answered. In response to her comment, Sherlock just raised his eyes, strode briskly up to the door, and turned the handle. It opened.

"Tom never locks his door," he said in response to John and Molly's stunned faces.

Molly stared at him. "How is it you know that and I don't? I was engaged to him. For a long time!"

"A surprisingly large amount of time, really, considering his intellectual habits. For example, the odd routine of never remembering to lock his door…"

Molly glared at Sherlock as he walked passed her into Toms flat. The apartment looked completely normal-small, reasonably tidy kitchen, bedroom down the hall, bathroom right next door. Sherlock surveyed the kitchen quickly, and then, apparently finding nothing worth investigating, he headed into the little bedroom.

Again, Molly and John, at least, could see nothing unusual about the place. It was a small room, with an untidy bed shoved in one corner and a little desk pushed into the other. It was the desk Sherlock headed to immediately.

"Well Molly," he said, pulling out a mini-slide magnifying glass and examining the desk lamp. "Tom clearly wasn't taken from his apartment, and…" he unscrewed the bulb of the desk lamp and help it up to the light coming in from the windows. "He probably hasn't been here since the night he broke it off with you, judging by the state of this lightbulb."

John and Molly didn't even ask.

Sherlock put back the bulb, and turned his attention to the crappy PC sitting on Toms desk. He opened it. "Tell me Molly did Tom like football?"

"Oh, he loved it," Molly said, her face saddening as the memories came back. "He and I used to go to Pubs when the matches were on…his favorites were the Arsenals."

"Yep," Sherlock said, typing A-R-S-E-N-A-L-S into the computer and hitting enter. The computer unlocked and displayed a home screen photo, the desk top photo a picture of Tom and Molly sitting together in a park.

Ignoring Molly's soft "aww," noise, Sherlock immediately preceded to check Tom's search history.

"The last time he opened a browser was last Friday." Sherlock turned to Molly. "That's when he dumped you, yeah?"

"Sherlock! Jesus, don't be so insensitive!"

Sherlock looked as if he was about to argue but then seemed to finally register the sadness on Molly's face. He paused awkwardly. "Sorry," he eventually managed to get out.

"It's okay," she said quietly, pushing back tears that she knew they had no time for. "So, Friday was the last time he opened a browser…so what?"

"So," said Sherlock, clicking a few keys and moving the mouse. "What did he feel the need to google at…." He checked a time, "9:43 pm? Ahh…." Sherlock stepped away from the screen so Molly and John could see the website Tom had found directly after breaking up with Molly.

"Neon Nightclub?"

"Ohhh, Tom…. that wasn't even clever, I just checked your search history…. amazing isn't it, how he can still be disappointing when he isn't even here…" Sherlock spoke in a disapproving voice as he headed quickly to the door, his coat flapping out dramatically behind him. Molly and John jogged to catch up with him as he headed down the rainy streets of central London.

"So, we're going to a nightclub now huh?" John asked.

"Not now John. I don't know if you've noticed or not but it's 2 in the afternoon. But later, yes. Obviously."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hi guys, so sorry I've been gone for so long…life gets busy but I'll try to update more frequently. I rather like this chapter, hope you enjoy! It's a long one.**

When later came, the three headed to Neon Nightclub. Luckily it wasn't very far away, and they could walk. By then the rain had stopped and the night was crisp and cool. It would have been a very pleasant evening, and Sherlock might have even ventured out of the depths of his mind to at least privately comment on the beauty of the city on such a night, but Molly's worry and sadness was practically tangible, and it bothered him. It also bothered him that her sadness bothered him.

Mycroft stepped out of his room in Sherlock's mind palace. "Honestly Sherlock," he told his little brother. "It's going to be a very long case if you continue to let these…feelings," he said the word like it was dirty, like it was a bad taste in his mouth that wouldn't go away, "get in the way. She's just Molly. An acquaintance."

"John says she's my friend. I say she's my friend."

"Call her what you will," mind palace Mycroft waved Sherlock's comment away with one lazy sweep of his hand, "but you're here to find that Tom person, not to sympathize with Molly. Besides, it was her fault from entering a relationship in the first place. You know this, brother mine. Caring is not an advantage."

"I know," said Sherlock, yet his gaze drifted to John for some reason, and for not the first time, he was unsure of his brother's motto.

Before they even reached the clubs door they could hear the music coming from it, and could see colored strobe light from under the door.

"Oh god, what the _fuck_ is this music?" Sherlock screwed up his face in equal parts horror and disgust.

"It's pop, Sherlock," said John, who recognized the song as one from Mrs. Hudson's vacuuming playlist.

"Pop," sneered Sherlock, grabbing the door handle. He entered the club and looked around at the crowds of people drinking and dancing left and right. "Ohhh god…" he sighed dejectedly, with the air of someone who had born the sufferings of many lifetimes.

The friends entered the club, Sherlock in front- striding briskly forward with a business-like manner—John in the middle, Molly bringing up the rear, her hands twisting anxiously as she walked.

Sherlock led then over to the bar. "Excuse me," he said loudly to the barman. "We're with the police, you know who worked here last Friday?"

"With the police?" Molly whispered to John.

He shrugged. "Just go with it, it's easier."

The man behind the bar top turned to look at Sherlock. He was a tall fellow, young, with wispy ginger hair, and dark green eyes.

"I did," he said. "Why'd you wanna to know?"

Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket, pulled up a picture of Tom, and showed it to the man. "Do you remember seeing him around?"

The man squinted at Sherlock's phone, then leaned back with a short laugh. "I remember him. He got so plastered it'd be hard to forget."

Molly did a quiet face-palm behind John.

"He was so drunk he was spinning around, singing along with the songs, and he kept yelling…something…he kept calling himself a name…something weird. Sher…sher something. Sher something Homes."

"Sherlock Holmes?" asked Sherlock, his brow furrowed.

"Yeah, that's it," the man nodded. "He kept twirling around, shouting that at the top of his lungs: "I'm Sherlock Holmes!" The man squinted at Sherlock. "He looked right like you, lad. Your brother or something?"

Molly did another face-palm, and her face turned red.

Sherlock chose to ignore it. "Did you notice when he left?"

"Yeah, someone came to pick him up around midnight. Said he was a friend of his."

Molly spoke. "Do you remember what this friend looked like?"

"Not really…it was kinda dark. I didn't notice anything in particular. Brown hair, 'bout 5'8 or so. He was shorter than me. He looked pretty young though…maybe 18?"

"Tom doesn't know any 18 year olds," Molly said, feeling more and more worried.

"Do you have any security camera's or anything?" John asked the man, leaning to see over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Yeah, we have the one," the man pointed right above him. "Keep an eye on the bar…we keep a lot of liquor back here."

"D'you mind if we take a look at the footage?"

The man shrugged. "Nah, I wouldn't mind. The owner's my uncle, I'm sure it'd be fine."

He led them to a little office in the back, and booted up an old desktop. "The video feeds into here…you guys wanted last Friday?"

Sherlock nodded.

The man brought up Friday's record. "What time do you want?"

"Between 10 and 1 please, or, whenever the friend shows up," John told him.

The man fiddled with the mouse for a second and then straightened up. "'Kay this is the time you asked for. I put it in fast-motion. I gotta go man the bar, you guys need anything else?"

"No, thank you, you've been really helpful" John shook the man's hand as Molly and Sherlock bent over the computer, watching the tape.

"There's Tom!" Molly said suddenly, pointing to the screen, where Tom had just stepped up to the bar and ordered a drink. The video continued, showing all the things the barman had mentioned, the dancing the twirling, the singing (there wasn't any sound, but by Tom's facial expressions it was clear he was expressing his identity as Sherlock Holmes very loudly) and finally, a man came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

Sherlock paused the video, and the three stared at the man's face. It was a pretty decent shot; he was facing the bar, and they could see his face very clearly.

"I don't recognize him. Do you Molly?"

"I've never seen him before."

"Sherlock?"

When the detective didn't answer immediately, the other two turned to look at him He was staring at the screen with a determined expression. "That face…" he said quietly. "I've seen that face…"

"Where? Who is he?" Molly looked desperate.

"I don't know…" He straightened up suddenly and spun around with a swirl of his coat. "But I can figure it out. Let's go back to 221B."


End file.
